Last Another Day Read online

  “You okay, Logan?”

  Seconds ticked by before Logan responded.

  “I will be. Just get us to wherever we're going.”

  Max took the hint.

  With no other option, he steered onto the shoulder of the road and forced the Land Rover around the crossing, driving through ditches, over rocks and termite mounds. Infected tried to cut him off. He ignored them, averting his eyes and gritting his teeth whenever he hit one.

  They're not people anymore, he reminded himself when guilt threatened to set in.

  He glanced into the back where the boy they'd rescued, cowered. Luckily he had enough sense to keep his head down. Max guessed his family was gone.

  He'd heard enough at the army base to know what was happening. The virus had broken out several weeks before in Europe. Due to a combination of disbelief, denial, and incompetence it could not be contained and spread throughout the unsuspecting population.

  Like everyone else, the South African government ignored the signs. They did not believe the reports streaming in until it was too late. The virus snuck in and from there on, it was all downhill.

  A family returning from holiday unwittingly brought it with them. Their twelve-year-old son was bitten by a ferocious little girl on the beach. After a visit to the clinic and a tetanus shot, the incident was forgotten. They went home a day later.

  At OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg, a businessman returning from Tokyo neglected to mention injuries incurred that morning when he was attacked by a crazed person on the street. A day later he became violently ill and died in hospital. Unfortunately for the medical staff at the morgue, he failed to remain dead.

  Elsewhere, an infected illegal immigrant crossed the border. He settled into a hostel with fellow illegals and turned during the night. It was a bloodbath.

  The virus took South Africa by storm when these incidents culminated that fateful week, reaching the more sparsely populated Free State countryside by Saturday morning and exploding into a full-blown catastrophe by the next day.

  Max had not reckoned on the virus moving so fast. Earlier that week, the army was dispatched to all major cities. They believed the situation could still be resolved as they struggled to put quarantine measures into place. Despite reports from the media about virus related violence all over the country, the government quickly reassured people it was under control.

  This prevented a widespread panic but also left people unprepared and vulnerable to attack. Max applied for leave then went AWOL when it was denied. Though loyal to the uniform, his family came first. He snuck out of the base with all the equipment and guns he could carry—it cost him a boat load in bribes but was worth it.

  He stole a glance at Logan, wondering what kind of man he was. He was older than Max, mid-thirties and tough. Tall and lean, with the look of a hunter. Stubble lined his jaws and his dark hair spiked up at all angles. Max hoped the two of them would get along as he had the distinct feeling they were stuck together.

  The drive through the streets of his hometown proved challenging, but not as difficult as Welkom with its much larger population. When they reached the home of his sister, Morgan, however, they faced a problem. Several zombies wandered about and more had followed them from elsewhere.

  “Are you prepared to back me up? I need to check if my sister is here,” Max said.

  Logan nodded, face cold and remote. He pushed open his door, jumped out, slammed it shut and took aim with his rifle. His every movement spoke of intense and uncontrolled violence. It was obvious he wasn't thinking straight.

  “Logan, wait!”

  Logan ignored him, taking down the nearest infected with a quick head shot. Max jumped out, scrambling to catch up before Logan got himself killed.

  His feet barely touched the ground when an infected raced for him at full speed. Startled, he fumbled with his gun, all training deserting him in an instant. His first shot missed by a mile. Before he could shoot again, she pounced on him. They rolled on the asphalt together.

  He grabbed her by the throat and pushed back. He couldn’t keep his grip, however, his hand slipping down to her collarbone. Like a snake, she slithered from his grasp and bit down on his chest. Shock reverberated through his body like an earthquake. His combat training kicked in and he lashed out, knocking her to the side.

  Grabbing his pistol, he shoved the gun into her mouth and pulled the trigger. Blood and brains exploded onto the pavement, splattering the right side of his body as another zombie fell onto his legs. He kicked it in the chest before planting a bullet in its forehead.

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins and his nerves steadied. Two more of the monsters were almost upon him. Taking a deep breath, he took aim and shot one after the other. He levered himself up, trying to get his bearings. Another hissed as it crawled towards him, face twisted in a mask of bloody death. The gun bucked in Max's hand and its head exploded in a fine spray of red and gray. The ruby drops glittered in the sun as an uneasy silence fell.

  Max jumped to his feet and gazed around, muscles tense as he readied for another attack but the infected were all down. Logan nodded at him, eyes remote and deadly. A circle of the undead surrounded him, a silent testament to his lethal aim.

  In a moment of clarity, Max remembered being bitten and grabbed for his chest. There, on his tactical vest, bloomed a sticky wet patch with deep teeth indentations. Despite her best efforts, the zombie had failed to bite through the material.

  “Oh, thank God.” Max slumped in relief. “That was close.”

  Relief made way for anger. Furious, he rounded on Logan. “What the fuck were you thinking? We're supposed to work together.”

  “I work alone,” Logan said.

  “Then you can die alone too.”

  A muscle ticked in Logan’s jaw and his eyes were as hard as stone. His knuckles whitened as his fists clenched.

  Tensed for action, Max waited.

  After a long moment, Logan relaxed and blew a breath out of his nose. “Fine. We'll work together. For now.”

  With a terse nod, Max pointed to the house and said, “Let's go before the gunshots attract more of those things. We don't have a lot of time."

  He clapped the back of the Land Rover. “We'll be right back, okay? Stay down and keep quiet.”

  The boy's head popped up, eyes wide and frightened but he nodded, ducking out of sight again.

  The gate stood open. Judging by the bloody tire tracks, someone had made a run for it. After a quick check revealed no zombies and no car in the yard, Max opened the kitchen door and stepped inside.

  “This is probably a waste of time, Logan but let’s…”

  Brian came howling out in a fury. Terror and surprise froze Max to the spot. Logan yanked him back by his collar, hauling him out the door and onto his ass.

  Swinging his rifle like a cricket bat, Logan almost decapitated Brian. With a thunk, the rifle connected with his temple, crushing bone and brains into mush. A second hit put him down for good.

  Logan nodded at the corpse, “Who was that?”

  “That... was my brother-in-law, B-B-Brian,” Max said, shaky after his second brush with death. He climbed to his feet, brushing off his pants with trembling hands.

  At this rate, I'll be dead by sundown.

  He bent down and examined the corpse with a sense of grief and remorse even though he'd never known Brian well. “Rest in peace, brother.”

  Logan took the lead as they searched the house. They found the bathroom with the bloodied railing and broken door, but no Morgan.

  “Well, looks like she put up a fight and got away. Any idea where she'd run too?” Logan asked.

  “My parents. That's all I can think of. It's the only other family we have here. Our other sister lives in Johannesburg.”

  “We’d better hurry then.”

  They rushed back to the Land Rover and drove off without delay. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled to a stop in front of the house and sat there, surveying the scene. It loo
ked like a war zone. Somebody had taken down a sizable group of zombies on the front lawn with what they guessed to be a truck.

  “I'm impressed. Your sister is resourceful,” Logan said, a tinge of admiration lacing his voice.

  It didn't take long to find the bodies. The sight of his father's face, bloodied and still, shook Max to the heels of his feet. The horrific wounds and the gunshot told its own story. He didn't even need to read the explanation in the note stuck on the fridge to know what had happened.

  He was relieved to learn everyone else was safe for the time being. Until he realized one important fact. He had no idea where they had gone to and had no means of finding them.

  “Shit.” Max scratched his head.

  “Now what?”

  “We have to find a place to fort up and survive. A base from which I can search for them.”

  “Any idea where that might be?”

  Max thought about it. “What about the riot police quarters? It has a strong fence, and it's outside of town.”

  “It might still be occupied.”

  “Even better. We can team up with them.”

  “Worth checking out, I suppose.”

  A few minutes' drive was all it took before they faced the entrance. Everything appeared quiet, and the gates stood wide open. There were no people and precious few vehicles left on the premises. No infected either.

  Being placed on the edge of town like it was, there weren't that many people around to begin with, and those that were there got an early warning from the riot police. Rolling through the gates, they kept watch but saw no movement.

  Half an hour later, after a quick and thorough search, they confirmed their suspicions. Whoever had been here, had responded to the emergency situation and never returned. It was deserted.

  With relief, Max rapped his knuckles on the Land Rover's back window.

  “You can come out now. It's safe,” he shouted.

  With some hesitation, the boy emerged, unconvinced by this confident statement.

  “Thanks for saving me,” he whispered, ducking his head.

  “I'm glad we could help,” Max said. “What's your name?”

  “Thembiso.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Max sucked in a breath. “Your family?”

  Thembiso shook his head, eyes fixed on the ground. “They're gone.” Fat teardrops slid down his cheeks, dripping onto his bloody t-shirt.

  “Did you get bitten? Scratched? Got blood in your mouth or eyes?” Logan probed.

  The boy shook his head.

  “Will you let me have a look?” Max asked.

  “Okay.”

  After a brief search, Max declared him clean so they headed inside.

  “We should secure the place as best we can for the night. Close all the windows and curtains and shut off any lights as you go. Look for the keys too while you're at it,” Max said.

  “We should make sure anything that can make a noise is shut off too. Phones, alarms, anything that could draw those things here,” he added.

  “Good thinking,” Logan replied.

  They headed off in their own directions.

  Thembiso stuck to Max like a shadow—no wonder after everything he had been through. The secretary's office yielded a set of keys to the building and a stash of chocolate. Another office offered up half a bottle of Jack Daniels and a flashlight.

  In the equipment and storerooms, they found a bounty of uniforms, batons, shields, rubber bullets and stun grenades. Max wasn't sure if the bullets and grenades would have much effect on the undead but he wasn’t about to complain.

  Logan found the keys to the gate and the two Nyala anti-riot vehicles left behind in the parking lot.

  “These will come in handy, Max said, dangling the keys. Though the army didn’t use them, Max remembered enough to know that Nyala’s were tough.

  Together they searched the lockers and bathrooms, finding a wealth of personal items. It was sad to see all those people's stuff, knowing that most of them were probably dead.

  Whilst Logan slipped out to go lock up, Max set about making coffee in the small kitchen. In a cupboard, he found bread, the fridge yielded butter, an overripe tomato, cheese and some leftover chicken. Somebody's lunch.

  After a rough supper in the small sitting room just off the kitchen, Logan fetched the last beers from his Land Rover. Max posted Thembiso off to sleep with a stiff shot of Jack Daniels.

  “Poor boy needs it,” he said with a shake of his head.

  They had no bedding, but it wasn't cold. It had been a bloody hot day since summer was now in full swing. Seating themselves in the main office with a beer, Max tried to raise someone on the radio but with no success. They tried all the phones again.

  Nothing.

  “I hate feeling so damn isolated,” Logan said.

  "Yeah, it sucks. Not knowing what's going on out there. Let's try the Internet.”

  To their surprise, the Internet still worked.

  “Must be because it’s an ADSL line. The land lines are still going for now,” Max explained.

  They found one horror story after the other, flooding the web like viruses. It was apparent the world was in chaos and billions of people had died.

  “Please, if anyone can help me, I'm trapped in my apartment. They're at the door and I don't know how long it will hold. Please, can someone help me?” a young girl begged on her Facebook page.

  Pleas for help flooded the social networks. Some governments were telling people to fort up and survive whilst others, including their own, told people to go to their nearest hospital or community center.

  “Big mistake,” Max muttered. Too many people in a confined space spelled disaster if the infection got in. Some sites offered advice to survivors: aim for the head, watch out for fresh ones, stick together...

  The list went on and on.

  There was more. Too much to take in.

  Max sighed, rubbing his stiff neck. He glanced at his watch. “It’s late. Let's bed down for the night. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  The last thought he had as he tried to stuff his tall body onto a couch was of Lilian.

  Are you still alive, Sis?

  5

  Chapter 5 - Breytenbach

  The night air was cool with just the barest hint of a breeze. It rustled through the leaves on the trees, granting a whisper of sound to the quiet surroundings. With complete confidence, the group moved through the shadows. They operated as a unit, moving in concert to hand signals passed between them.

  They passed through the richest suburb in Johannesburg with as little sound as possible, moving towards their target. Only once, as they flowed around a car parked on the sidewalk with the passenger door open, did a sound disturb them. A low growl shivered through the night as a zombie lurched out.

  With quiet efficiency, one dark figure dispatched the corpse with a powerful thrust from a fearful looking knife. He stabbed up into the brain through the soft tissue beneath the chin. Without a sound, it crumpled to the ground.

  A gleam of white teeth showed in the faint glow of the moon, all the more startling against ebony skin. The owner of the knife cleaned it on his trouser leg then thrust it back into its holster. His large frame moved with the ease and grace of a cat as he took up his position at the back of the group again.

  One, two, three more blocks they moved, well on the way to their target. Then they heard it. A deep, low thrum, issuing from the throats of countless undead to form one concerted moan. The source of this unearthly groan soon became obvious. Not far to the left, a horde of infected pushed against the fence of a kindergarten school.

  Inside, lights shined. The cries and screams of children could be heard if the group listened hard enough. The fence bowed under the horde's hands. It wouldn't last. Even as they watched, it buckled under the combined weight of so many bodies.

  Captain Breytenbach could only shake his head at the blatant stupidity of the people
inside the school. With all the lights and noise, they had put up a virtual sign: Attention all Zombies. Fresh food!

  It was a miracle they had lasted this long already. Then again, people never thought straight in a crisis, especially one such as this.

  Either way, it was none of his business. A former billionaire resident had hired Breytenbach's team to rescue his son. The boy didn't make it out in time. Now, he hid in his father's mansion only two blocks away.

  “I’ve got a job to do,” Breytenbach muttered.

  Ex-military, Breytenbach and two members of his team used to be part of the South African Army's special forces. Having fought and trained together for years, they were happy to sign up when Breytenbach opened his own security company, one that catered to the super rich. Over the years, other professionals had joined the team. Mercenaries one and all, they lived for the action and the money.

  Now he felt doubt gnawing at his gut. The simplest thing would be to slip past the horde and carry on with their mission. That's what they were being paid for. But the thought of children being torn apart whilst he did nothing, didn't sit well with him. Mercenary he might be, but he still had honor.

  He looked at each of his team and asked a silent question: Detour?

  One by one they nodded. With a faint smile of approval, he motioned Lenka to the right flank. With his knife skills and incredible strength, he was a fearsome adversary. Johan, his right-hand man took the left, while he and Ronnie took the lead. Kirstin and Mike stayed in the back, providing cover fire to the rest.

  The muffled pops of shots fired through silencers filled the night as they picked off the undead from the back. They fell by the dozen, thinning the crowd as Breytenbach's group advanced. A few stragglers caught on, charging them only to be intercepted by the flankers.

  At the front, the throng finally pushed over the fence, trampling each other in their rush to get to the school. Glass shattered, the bell-like tinkling followed by hysterical screams as the infected broke through the windows. Urgency descended on the group. They sped up their efforts, closing in on the building.